


it's an ace thing [just between us]

by jeansomelettes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I'm Sorry, Insecure Azumane Asahi, M/M, Rare Pairings, Smut, Training Camp, Underage Sex, bokuto is really nice here like super nice, excessive bro talk, i don't even know where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeansomelettes/pseuds/jeansomelettes
Summary: bokuto wants to understand why karasuno’s strongest player is also the quietest. he also kind of wants to see what makes him tick. set during the s2 training camp arc.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi & Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 19
Kudos: 81





	it's an ace thing [just between us]

**Author's Note:**

> full disclosure, I have a serious writer boner for rare-pairs, so thank you for reading even though this is clearly not what anyone asked for. I started watching Haikyuu recently and fell in love with the summer training arc and this is what’s come out of it.

Despite what many people may think, Bokuto is surprisingly analytical. He’s a punch of power on the court and gracelessly chatty off of it, but behind the incessant noise in the back of his mind there’s clarity. That clarity, that determined focus that applies to every move in a game, every spike he lands, that’s what makes him a fearless leader and a winner – not to mention one of the best aces in the country. It’s what’s going to get his team to nationals. 

So Bokuto spends much of summer training camp focused on Karasuno, because they’re a team of unknowns. Tsukishima, that tall drink of water with a shocking amount of competence packaged up in such a deliciously spiteful package, Hinata and Kageyama, the dynamos with fire in their eyes and noise in their heads, their dutiful and careful captain, dependent and impressive and composed … It’s all new and exciting. And Bokuto likes new and exciting things.

And then there’s their ace. 

Kuroo had told him about him a bit, of course. About the big, quiet guy in the back row of Karasuno’s line-up with a vicious spike and a passive voice. 

_“It’s insane how much of a pussy he seems,” Kuroo had said after their first game with Karasuno, shrugging his broad shoulders and sipping his soda. “If he actually acted like how fucking strong he was, he’d be giving us all shit.”_

Azumane Asahi is the type of guy that most teams look for in their ace. He’s big and broad and built, muscled in all the right places, with big hands and a steady endurance. He has a calm presence on the court and he’s a team player who’s always willing to come through. 

But when he watches Karasuno play, Bokuto can’t help but be disappointed in every which way. They fumble easy receives, they miss their hits, their jumps are out of sync. They do every single penalty with enthusiasm and pride, even when there are scabs on their arms from the hardwood floor and bruises on their legs uncovered by their knee pads. 

Asahi is the one who quietly follows, his demeanour shy and – dare Bokuto speculate – almost demure. He hasn’t heard him exchange more than ten words with anyone outside of Karasuno, and when he does it’s low and quiet, barely more than a murmur, with a sheepish grin and white teeth that makes Bokuto’s heart – 

But then, in brief, fleeting moments, out of the corner of his eye, Bokuto sees Asahi come to life, confident, long strides, a tight, strong core that peeks out the bottom of his shirt when he flies and flexes for a spike, an intensity in his face that searingly echoes in the gym, and maybe he catches his eye and sees something flash in him – 

Well, it’s what makes him interesting, after all. 

Bokuto likes puzzles. He likes solving puzzles and prying them open with body and mind. He just wants to figure out why the big, bad ace of Karasuno is as quiet as he is. And he also just wants to know what makes him _tick._

It’s late at night when Bokuto peeks inside Karasuno’s usual gym, his tummy full and satisfied after dinner, a sleepiness just creeping into the corner of his mind as he yawns. He’d seen their libero leave a few minutes earlier, sweating and panting but content, heaving a large duffle bag over his shoulders and heading back to their dorms. 

He doesn’t dare let himself hope, but he quickly scans the seemingly empty space before his eyes settle on the solo figure standing beside a cart of volleyballs. Asahi has his back turned towards him, breathing deeply, his shirt damp and sticking to his broad back. Bokuto allows himself an indulgent scan of his body before he clears his throat and announces his arrival. 

“Azumane-san,” Bokuto calls, casual and chipper. He bares his teeth and grins. “Working hard, I see.” 

Asahi turns around, surprise written all over his face, before his features relax into a timid smile, his brows and eyes turning playful. 

“Bokuto-san,” Asahi says, and the rumble of his name has Bokuto’s palms sweating. Fuck. “You’re here late, man.”

“So are you.”

Asahi shrugs his big shoulders. “Just trying to work on my serves.” He nods at the mess he’s left on the other side of the net, balls strewn across the floor of the gym. 

“Yeah?” Bokuto crosses his arms, “You guys have been working hard lately, it looks like it’s paying off.” 

“We lost every set today,” Asahi points out. 

Bokuto rubs the back of his neck. “Ahh yeah dude,” he grins, “Trust me, I noticed.” 

Asahi laughs, no malice in his tone. “We’re grateful for the opportunity here to improve. This is a valuable experience regardless.” 

So polite. Bokuto is forcibly reminded of the way Akaashi speaks, in full sentences with perfectly accurate syntax. “Even when you’re on your fifth penalty sprint of the day?” Bokuto goads, stepping closer. 

Asahi shrugs again, the movement flippant and casual.

“At least we’re getting our cardio in.” 

“Are you?” Bokuto tries, probing him again. “I mean, it’s really only Tiny Tom who’s bouncing back at full strength each time.” 

Asahi smiles. “Hinata is an anomaly. I like to think that compared to mortals, we’d do alright.” 

“Right right, right,” Bokuto smirks, “We appreciate Karasuno being the sacrificial lambs for all the penalties this camp – it’s been great for morale.” 

Asahi laughs, undeterred. “Dude, did you come here just to make me feel like trash or something?” 

The way he smiles is delightful, Bokuto thinks to himself. He watches Asahi pull off his headband and shake out his hair, tumbling out in frizzy curls. Even now, after a day of getting his ass kicked, he still has an air of quiet dignity, a glassy stillness that seems tense in the mood. 

“No way man,” Bokuto says dismissively. “If I wanted to start shit I would’ve gone to your Captain.” 

Asahi is still grinning. “You don’t want to see Daichi pissed,” he says warningly. “He’s got a temper.” 

“Kind of unexpected from him, don’t you think? Isn’t that more your tempo?” 

“Nah,” Asahi shakes his head, long strands of hair falling into his face. He has a hair elastic in between his teeth. “I’m not really here to stir the pot or hype people up. That’s Tanaka’s job.” 

“Well your presence has been good for something,” Bokuto continues, “You know my managers have been gawking at you this whole week, right?” 

Asahi looks flustered for the first time. “No,” he stutters, reach up to put up his long hair. A few strands escape around the nape of his neck.

“‘No’ as in, you didn’t know, or they weren’t?” Bokuto asks him levelly. 

“Neither,” Asahi says, averting his eyes. “Your managers have enough to admire on their own team–” 

“Can you keep it down?” Bokuto blurts out, interrupting him.

Asahi stares at him. “What do you mean?” He suddenly falls quiet, his voice hushed, and it occurs to Bokuto that Asahi thinks that he’s telling him he’s too loud. _Him,_ of all people. 

“Your hair,” Bokuto clarifies, his voice measured, “I’ve never seen it down. It looks pretty cool. Can you please keep it down?” 

Asahi slowly drops his hands. They stare at each other for what feels like an extended pause. Bokuto can feel his own heart beating in his ribcage, loud and violent in his chest. 

They’re at an impasse, Bokuto knows this. He’s not as good as Kuroo is at antagonizing, instigating, coaxing. He doesn’t have any refinement in how he does things, and he has no interest in beating around the bush. Karasuno, Fukurodani, what does it matter? There are only a few dudes at summer training camp every year, even less who can understand the pressure and burden of carrying the expectation of being an ace.

Asahi is one of them, and his eyes are just as sharp as Bokuto’s, his mind laden with guilt and responsibility, his shoulders heavy and drawn tight with weariness. It doesn’t matter how different they are, Bokuto thinks to himself, daring another step closer. Asahi takes a sharp breath.

This is… This could be dangerous, Bokuto is well aware. He’s a veteran at assuming interest when there is none, and maybe missing interest when it’s obvious. He’s pushed enough guys at training camps that he knows it’s just as likely to walk out of this with a bruise on his jaw as a hickey on his neck. He doesn’t even know if Asahi likes guys, he just knows that Asahi has the same razor sharp focus on his face as he does when he’s going for a spike and it makes Bokuto’s tummy feel hot and hungry.

“I mean,” Bokuto breaks the silence, “I wouldn’t blame Yukie and Kaori for staring.” He looks pointedly at Asahi’s broad shoulders before dragging his gaze down his body. 

Asahi seems lost for words, big hands twisting the headband he’s gripping between his fingers. His expression doesn’t match his body, earnest and wide-eyed, the bashful way he keeps looking away at a spot on the ground, tongue tripping for a reply. 

Still, he doesn’t push Bokuto away when he steps closer, into that fragile, delicately built box of personal space that Asahi has. That’s a good sign. He smells like sweat and laundry. Bokuto’s nose flares, letting the scent fill his head, and his mind starts going hazy with a deep pull in his gut. 

“Can I kiss you?” Bokuto whispers, sickeningly sweet, falsely demure. 

Asahi huffs out a laugh. “Isn’t that what you’re here for?” His voice is steady but his hands are not, Bokuto notices, shaking at his side. 

“No way dude,” Bokuto responds, “I came out of my own good will to help another ace in need… Not to check you out and possibly molest you in the gym.” 

“Ah,” Asahi smiles and looks away again. Bokuto is endeared at the contrasting bashfulness and his serious features. “Well, you’re not molesting me.” 

“So this is ok, then?” Bokuto mutters, reaching out and tracing the bottom of Asahi’s shirt. “Do you want this?” 

He can see Asahi’s adam’s apple bobbing violently as he swallows and thinks, eyes nervously darting to the double doors of the gym and over Bokuto’s shoulder. 

“Yes,” he says finally, hushed, “But we’re in _public –_ ”

Bokuto shuts him up with a firm press of his lips. It’s strictly perfunctory, a brush of intimacy before he pulls away. For a first kiss, it’s innocent. Childish, almost. 

“Shinzen’s manager Otaki-san has the keys,” he says, “And I know for a fact she’s gone to bed already.” 

“How do you –” Asahi says, helpless, right when Bokuto slots a leg between his muscular thighs. “ _Oh_ – Bokuto-san –” 

“No,” Bokuto replies, “Koutarou is fine. We should be on a first name basis by now, hey?” 

Asahi squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “Koutarou,” he tries, tentatively, licking his lips. 

Oh but does it sound _good_. It sounds good as a rumble down Asahi’s chest, quiet and deep and tender. Bokuto reaches out and wraps a tentative hand around Asahi’s thick neck and leans in to press his mouth firmly against him. One more time, and again and again and again, kissing and sliding their lips against each other, glossy and wet until Asahi is rocking his hips and quietly whimpering into his mouth. 

He can’t stand how unexpectedly erotic this is, this shy, quiet boy rutting against him, all semblance of control slipping away at his seams. 

“Asahi,” Bokuto growls, reaching down to slide greedy hands up Asahi’s shirt. “Take this off.” 

Asahi nearly smacks Bokuto in his haste and soon they’re both shirtless. Bokuto let’s himself admire the way Asahi’s body flexes under the pressure of his gaze, already so much like a man, so unlike some of the other boys present at this camp, but still with a type of self-consciousness that isn’t yet erased by the measure of maturity. 

Bokuto bares his teeth and grins. “Dude.” He runs a hand over flexing abs, “You’ll have to tell me your workout regime.”

Asahi laughs, easing up a bit. “I don’t think you’ll need much help.” He adds, a bit quieter, “your body is perfect.” 

Bokuto’s heart jumps. He knows he looks good, his body is strong and powerful and whipcorded with muscle all over. The girls in his school turn and whisper about him when he walks down the hall. He’s had his fair share of uni guys ogle his ass when he’s playing an exhibition game. Bokuto is no stranger to being wanted. 

But the way Asahi looks at him now, that’s a different feeling entirely. 

“Yeah?” he says, looking for more praise. “Tell me more.” 

“It’s just –” Asahi says, “You’re built for this. For volleyball.” 

Bokuto doesn’t expect the frank honesty in his voice. He doesn’t know what he was expecting but the way Asahi says that with reverence, almost envy in his voice, catches him off guard. He responds by leaning in and licking into Asahi’s mouth, feeling the hot pants and the rasp of stubble rub against his skin.

“I’ve never done this before,” Asahi finally admits, big hands fluttering around Bokuto’s shoulders, but not quite touching him yet.

“Really?” Bokuto asks, leaning back, “Not even with girls?” 

Asahi smirks in a self-deprecating kind of way. “They’re not exactly lining up to date a guy like me.” 

Bokuto frowns. “That doesn’t check out, man,” he says, waving a hand in Asahi’s direction. “I mean, look at you.” 

He smiles, fond, “Yeah,” he gestures towards himself, “Look at me. Imagine the disappointment when girls find out I’m a big baby with a glass heart.” 

Bokuto shakes his head and drops his eyes to the swelling of Asahi’s cock underneath his shorts. It’s straining against the fabric and Bokuto wants to put his mouth on him. 

He gets down to his knees and hears Asahi take a breath. 

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says lowly, worshipful, matter-of-fact. Through his eyelashes, he can see the clench of Asahi’s sharp jaw, 

They don’t have much time, despite Bokuto’s confidence that they won’t be interrupted by a passing intruder, it’s getting late and they still have training tomorrow early in the morning. So he quickly licks his palm and reaches into Asahi’s shorts, hearing the sharp hitch of his breath as he grabs his dick. 

Bokuto doesn’t have a lot of experience with other dude’s dicks – he’s seen some and maybe even grabbed a few, but his experience in handjobs is sorely lacking with the exception of some porn and maybe a handy in a broom closet. His movements are hurried, unrefined, but enthusiastic and Asahi has a nice cock that warrants his focus, anyway. He hasn’t seen many in his time, but this one is nice, or at least attached to a nice guy. 

“Koutarou,” Asahi breathes, his lashes fluttering as he watches Bokuto stroke him. “Thank you.” 

Bokuto almost laughs at the gratitude and manners, but says nothing as he licks his palm again, a little salty from sweat, and strokes his cock. He revels in the feel of the velvety skin, slipping and pulling as his hands move, the tip glistening and wet, Asahi’s hips jerking abortively. 

“You feel nice, Asahi,” Bokuto whispers. “I always knew you would be hung, how many girls do you think have thought about your cock out like this?” 

Asahi is covering his eyes with one hand, his head thrown back and sweat dripping down his neck. He is a vision like this, an image Bokuto is going to sear into his mind and jerk off to for the rest of his goddamn life. He strokes a little faster, adding a twist on the upstroke, and Asahi’s dick spurts, making everything wetter, hotter – 

“I want to see you come,” Bokuto murmurs, looking up at Asahi shamelessly, “Wanna see you come all over my hand, ok? Please?” 

Asahi exhales and his hips stutter, his expression a little pinched, like he’s about to shoot off but also like something is holding him back. Bokuto slows his grip and looks up for direction. 

“Like this,” Asahi murmurs, wrapping a big hand around his and guiding his motions, a flash of confidence in his eyes, leaning back against the ball cart and gripping so hard his knuckles are turning white. Bokuto almost drools. 

“Yes,” he says vehemently, “show me, please, I want to watch you jack yourself off.” 

Asahi is panting, his mouth open hotly and his eyes screwed shut. Bokuto wonders if he’s thinking about someone else, about their pretty manager or maybe a faceless chick with good tits and a tight body. 

“Koutarou,” Asahi gasps out, and his eyes fly open as he stares at Bokuto. His hands quicken, Bokuto’s fist between his fingers, his cock slippery in his hand and Bokuto can feel Asahi stiffen and shiver as he comes, hearing the bellowing groan stifled in his own hand. 

They don’t move – the only thing audible in the empty gym is the sound of Asahi’s heavy breathing. Bokuto stares at his hand, still intertwined with Asahi’s, and the streaks of cum running down his wrist. 

After a moment, Asahi gently untangles their limbs and uses the hem of his shirt to wipe Bokuto’s fingers and wrist. It’s strangely intimate, the act of cleaning someone up after sex, and Bokuto can feel his strong hands around his, big and broad and calloused. 

He’s so hard it hurts, but his head is fuzzy and light and satisfied that his own desire doesn’t seem to be a priority. 

Bokuto’s eyes sparkle and he slowly stands up, flexing his knees. “So,” he says casually, his voice low.

Asahi doesn’t reply. He ties his hair up sloppily and straightens up, staring Bokuto straight in the eye. 

Head to head, they’re close to the same height, but Bokuto seems bigger, more powerful, his presence larger than life. 

Asahi doesn’t shirk away, though, and Bokuto is delighted when he braves another kiss, his mouth warm, the rasp of his stubble making his spine tingle. 

“So,” he responds in kind when he pulls away, leaving Bokuto with an overwhelming urge to chase his mouth. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, man,” Bokuto mutters. He surreptitiously reaches down and adjusts himself in his shorts. 

Asahi looks uncomfortable. “Do you want me to…” he gestures awkwardly. 

It takes a moment for Bokuto to know what he’s asking. “Oh!” he says, eyes widening. Holy shit, Asahi is asking to _return the favour_ because he’s that kind of gentleman and Bokuto’s dick is so hard it could probably benchpress his own bodyweight right now. 

He considers it, taking in Asahi’s flushed face, his fluttering eyelashes, bashful and embarrassed, and contemplates messing him up. To take him apart, big and broad and beautiful, whimpering on his fingers, making him get on his knees, the possibilities are _endless._

But Bokuto is a nice guy and he doesn’t take advantage of people like this. 

“Nah, man,” he says easily, grinning and waving him off, “I’m good. You’d probably give yourself a panic attack if you tried anything right now.” 

Asahi bites his lip, unintentionally sexy and Bokuto’s brain momentarily short circuits, the majority of his brain cells very much preoccupied with his straining dick. 

“Well,” Bokuto manages weakly, standing up and trying to put one foot in front of the other like a normal fucking person instead of an 18 year old with a raging erection tucked against his thigh, “I’ll see ya tomorrow.” 

“Wait.” 

Asahi’s hand (big and huge, warm and a little clammy from the nerves) grabs his wrist as he pulls him into a forceful kiss. The enthusiasm makes their teeth knock together briefly before Bokuto can slot his mouth against him properly, feeling the sharp inhale of Asahi’s breath against his cheek. 

“Next time,” Asahi says fiercely, half mumbled against his mouth, “I want to make you come.”

“Holy shit,” Bokuto says, shocked by the way his eyes come to life. “No, dude, seriously this doesn’t have to be–” 

Asahi’s hand reaches down and squeezes him through his shorts and Bokuto chokes on his next words. 

“I don’t like being part of an unequal partnership,” he says, determined, his gaze steely and severe. 

Bokuto blinks, before he exhales. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Yeah, ok.” 

Asahi lets him go and gives him a sweet smile, suddenly shy again. Bokuto’s head _spins_. “Thanks man,” he says. “I’ve gotta clean this up, though, or else Coach is gonna kick my ass.” 

Right. Volleyball. The whole reason they’re here in the first place. 

Bokuto swings the double doors of the gym open and breathes the humid air in, feeling his lungs expand, feeling the weight of the heat on the nape of his neck. He exhales and starts walking back to their dorm rooms, the moonlight casting a dimly lit pathway on his walk of shame. 

The next morning, Asahi has an energy behind his movements, sharp, fluid, graceful, effortlessly confident. He serves with a relaxed jawline, spikes with practiced ease, and grins at his teammates in a light, blissful way. 

“Their ace looks...different today,” Konoha comments, watching Karasuno play Nekoma. 

“Hm?” Bokuto looks up to catch Asahi flying towards the net, his form perfection in strength and power and balance. 

“He’s got a bit of a hop to his vertical today,” Konoha replies, not taking his eyes off of Karasuno. “He’s looking a bit more confident than he’s been all week.” 

Bokuto watches as Asahi launches a ball into the hardwood floor, narrowly missing Lev’s face. When he turns back to his team for congratulatory head pats, his eyes land on Bokuto. He falters for a second, expression stiff, before his face breaks out into a grin, all teeth and charm and no bite whatsoever. 

Bokuto smiles. “Yeah,” he agrees, giving Asahi a thumbs up. “A bit more confident.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism and feedback are always welcome!
> 
> I’m on Twitter: @jeansomelettes


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